Allen to hold in my arms.
But at that time I couldn’t seem to stay out of the other world nor find the courage to fully enter it either. I still can’t,
I still live caught between the two, though at least when the underworld claims me now I know to hold my breath so I don’t
come up near drowned. But back then, I sat on the stones with Liam knowing nothing beyond what I was reared to. I was the
child who has only ever seen what is revealed by day, who hasn’t known that in darkness you lose what is near but you see
beyond into galaxies.
I remember looking up at Liam from a long way off, and he got to his feet and stretched down and pulled me onto mine and we
tramped off over the short, springy grass, which he said was called machair, with Dandy dancing alongside and the sheep getting
up and moving off at sight of him, sheep with curling horns like my skull on the windowsill, and arses dyed indigo blue.
Boredom and fear belong to the mind, and pain and exhaustion belong to the body, but the spirit knows none of these things—the
spirit knows only light. So we moved off, and the movement must have jogged me out of the mind and its fear and into the body—home
of pleasure as well as pain—which still glowed with its discovery of Liam’s.
And maybe into the spirit as well, for it is amazing, looking back, how easily I sloughed off the seal and its dark warnings,
and went skipping and dancing like Dandy into Achill’s shifting light.
Chapter 6
M arie and Dermot will be here on Thursday,” Liam said. “We’re welcome—for as long as we like—but I’d need to be thinking of
getting back.”
Dermot was Liam’s friend, the one who’d lent him the cottage, which belonged to Dermot’s family on account of his mother being
from Achill. He’d told me that much, but nothing at all about anyone coming.
“What day’s today?” I asked, blank as I could manage.
“Tuesday.”
I got up from the table and made a fresh pot of tea. I took my time, heating the pot, and then sliding the lid in carefully
under the rim, making sure there was no rattle from the tremor in my hand.
I carried the teapot to the table.
“There’s an architect looking for me for some work,” Liam said, “and I’ve put him off twice already. It’s a good job, and
there’s others will jump at the chance if I don’t turn up and show willing.”
Liam went on talking about this architect, enthusiasm in his voice. I poured the tea, schooling my face to say nothing.
“A new house, no expense spared,” Liam said. “The client’s rich—seriously rich—wants the fireplaces hand-carved in Kilkenny
marble, plus balustrades and fountains and gardenornaments as well. God only knows what it’ll look like, but I’m not about to argue. With luck it’ll pay for my own work for
at least a year.”
I hardly listened. I’d thought there was no time limit, no end, that it was only me that had anything to decide or go back
to. And I wanted him to ask would I come home with him to Kilkenny. Ask—so I could turn him down.
I buttered more toast and slathered it in marmalade and ate it without speaking or looking at him. He said later he was watching
for the slightest sign, but I didn’t let on.
Why would I? His body told me I was the world to him, yet here he was, chatting away, fireplaces and features and to hell
with me.
When we’d finished breakfast we left the dishes in the sink and went out. Dandy wasn’t at the door, but we weren’t five minutes
down the road and there he was, trotting along, business as usual. He’d adopted us, waited outside the door most mornings,
and when we came back he’d go off home up the hill. I wanted to feed him, but Liam said no, somebody owned the dog. He only
came with us for company and a walk.
It was a perfect day, the first we’d had, the sun shining down on the blue sea and everything looking subtly wrong in the
calm, clear light. The sounds were
But at that time I couldn’t seem to stay out of the other world nor find the courage to fully enter it either. I still can’t,
I still live caught between the two, though at least when the underworld claims me now I know to hold my breath so I don’t
come up near drowned. But back then, I sat on the stones with Liam knowing nothing beyond what I was reared to. I was the
child who has only ever seen what is revealed by day, who hasn’t known that in darkness you lose what is near but you see
beyond into galaxies.
I remember looking up at Liam from a long way off, and he got to his feet and stretched down and pulled me onto mine and we
tramped off over the short, springy grass, which he said was called machair, with Dandy dancing alongside and the sheep getting
up and moving off at sight of him, sheep with curling horns like my skull on the windowsill, and arses dyed indigo blue.
Boredom and fear belong to the mind, and pain and exhaustion belong to the body, but the spirit knows none of these things—the
spirit knows only light. So we moved off, and the movement must have jogged me out of the mind and its fear and into the body—home
of pleasure as well as pain—which still glowed with its discovery of Liam’s.
And maybe into the spirit as well, for it is amazing, looking back, how easily I sloughed off the seal and its dark warnings,
and went skipping and dancing like Dandy into Achill’s shifting light.
Chapter 6
M arie and Dermot will be here on Thursday,” Liam said. “We’re welcome—for as long as we like—but I’d need to be thinking of
getting back.”
Dermot was Liam’s friend, the one who’d lent him the cottage, which belonged to Dermot’s family on account of his mother being
from Achill. He’d told me that much, but nothing at all about anyone coming.
“What day’s today?” I asked, blank as I could manage.
“Tuesday.”
I got up from the table and made a fresh pot of tea. I took my time, heating the pot, and then sliding the lid in carefully
under the rim, making sure there was no rattle from the tremor in my hand.
I carried the teapot to the table.
“There’s an architect looking for me for some work,” Liam said, “and I’ve put him off twice already. It’s a good job, and
there’s others will jump at the chance if I don’t turn up and show willing.”
Liam went on talking about this architect, enthusiasm in his voice. I poured the tea, schooling my face to say nothing.
“A new house, no expense spared,” Liam said. “The client’s rich—seriously rich—wants the fireplaces hand-carved in Kilkenny
marble, plus balustrades and fountains and gardenornaments as well. God only knows what it’ll look like, but I’m not about to argue. With luck it’ll pay for my own work for
at least a year.”
I hardly listened. I’d thought there was no time limit, no end, that it was only me that had anything to decide or go back
to. And I wanted him to ask would I come home with him to Kilkenny. Ask—so I could turn him down.
I buttered more toast and slathered it in marmalade and ate it without speaking or looking at him. He said later he was watching
for the slightest sign, but I didn’t let on.
Why would I? His body told me I was the world to him, yet here he was, chatting away, fireplaces and features and to hell
with me.
When we’d finished breakfast we left the dishes in the sink and went out. Dandy wasn’t at the door, but we weren’t five minutes
down the road and there he was, trotting along, business as usual. He’d adopted us, waited outside the door most mornings,
and when we came back he’d go off home up the hill. I wanted to feed him, but Liam said no, somebody owned the dog. He only
came with us for company and a walk.
It was a perfect day, the first we’d had, the sun shining down on the blue sea and everything looking subtly wrong in the
calm, clear light. The sounds were
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